


Freedom's Just Another Word

by druxykexy



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drugging, Kidnapping, M/M, set in season one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy/pseuds/druxykexy
Summary: Maroni has put out a hit on Oswald, and Jim is determined not let that happen, even if he has to put Oswald in custody to keep him safe.Oswald, however, has very different plans.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Jim wasn’t looking forward to this.

It had been inevitable though, ever since the first time they’d met, when he’d watched him beat a man with a bat on Mooney’s orders, Jim had known that one day Oswald Cobblepot would wind up on the inside of a prison cell. Or dead.

Of those two options, this was definitely the better one. There was a time when he’d looked forward to being the one to put him there. But that thought had ceased to give him any satisfaction for a while.

Jim turned off the ignition and stepped outside of the cruiser. The cabin was remote. A mob safe house that had changed hands several times, but loosely belonged to Maroni.

Only Oswald would have the gall to choose a hideout that belonged to the man who’d put out a hit on him.

Although, admittedly, it would likely be the last place Maroni would look for him.

Jim moved silently onto the porch. He peered through the window to check for movement before he positioned himself to one side of the door. He was much more likely to be shot through its wooden panels than the thick logs of the walls.

He drew his weapon. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary but wanted it available just in case. He wasn’t worried so much that Oswald would attack him, but that someone else might have gotten to Oswald first.

“GCPD,” he announced as he pounded on the door.

Somewhere in the house he heard the loud clang of something dropping. Hollow and metal, like a pot or a pan.

“Cobblepot, it’s Detective Gordon. Open up.”

There was silence just long enough for Jim to begin to consider kicking down the door, when he heard the approach of footsteps, they were hesitant but with a familiar drag.

An eye appeared in the peephole, but only for an instant before it was gone again. There was another moment of silence, but then the door was opened wide.

“Jim!” Oswald greeted him, smiling warmly as if this was merely a social call. “What an unexpected pleasure it is to see you.”

“We need to talk.” Jim peered around him. “Anyone else inside?”

Oswald’s smile faltered, but only for an instant before it was plastered back in place. “No, only me. And of course, come in.”

Jim holstered his gun as he moved inside, although he was prepared to grab it again in an instant if necessary.

Oswald closed and latched the door behind him. “I was just making lunch if you’re hungry.”

“I’m fine,” Jim said as he followed Oswald through the cabin and into its small kitchen. He wasn’t entirely certain why he hadn’t just read him his rights and cuffed him on sight. Honestly, he wasn’t certain why he did a lot of the things he did where Oswald was concerned.

Oswald began to set up a tray with a plate, a cloth napkin, and utensils—all for what appeared to be a simple sandwich.

“So,” Jim started, “I’ve heard talk that you’re currently wanted by—”

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in a sandwich?” Oswald said with false cheer. “It’s only peanut butter and honey, but if you’d rather, there’s some cheese and salami in the fridge. Or a can of tuna in the cupboard.”

“You’re not safe here,” Jim insisted, wanting to get the conversation back on topic. “You’ve made some big enemies.”

Oswald sighed. “Well, that’s not anything you need to be concerned about.” He opened the fridge and took out a pitcher of juice and poured himself a glass. “Would you like some? I’m afraid I don’t have any beer or soda.”

“No, thanks.”

“Coffee?”

“ _Oswald_.”

“There’s no need to get in a mood, Jim—”

“I’m offering you protective custody.”

Oswald stared at him for a moment. Then slowly he replaced the container in the fridge and picked up his tray.

“I think we both know the GCPD isn’t capable of offering that.”

Jim followed him to the dining area where Oswald put the tray down on the small wooden table.

“It’s better than being on your own.”

“And what would the GCPD want in return?”

“A witness testimony. Against Maroni.”

Oswald gave him a look that wasn’t particularly surprised, but wasn’t encouraging either. As if he’d never expected Jim to offer anything that would be of any use to him.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” Oswald said finally, as Jim had known he would.

But he’d had to try, just in case. Jim braced himself for what he was about to do next, even though really, it shouldn’t have been this hard.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Oswald offered. “Since you drove all this way.”

“I’d rather stand.”

Oswald tapped his fingers on the surface of the table, but didn’t sit down either. “I have to admit, I didn’t think anyone would look for me here. Care to share how you found me?”

“Cab driver.”

Oswald winced at that. “I guess that was an obvious mistake on my part.”

“He didn’t know your name, just your description. Although it won’t matter soon anyway.”

Oswald’s brow crinkled. “That’s quite the pessimistic thing to say, Jim. I’ll have you know that I’m quite good at doing things people aren’t apt to expect.”

“That’s not it.” Jim released his handcuffs from their holder. “It won’t matter because I’m taking you in.”

Oswald stared at him, eyes wide. “You’re arresting me?”

“Yes. Now put your hands out in front of you.”

Instead of complying, Oswald took half a step back. “For what?”

“Name it.” Jim closed the distance, although he didn’t make a grab for him. Not yet. “I could list a dozen reasons.”

“You can’t be serious! What would this accomplish?”

“It’ll keep you from being dead, for one thing. And preserve an important witness.”

A nervous tremble ran through Oswald. “While I’m flattered at your concern for my wellbeing, let me assure you that I will be in as much risk in prison from Maroni’s men as I will be out here.”

“Hands. Now.”

“But—” Oswald snatched his wrist away when Jim reached for it. “You _owe_ me, Jim Gordon. You can’t do this to me—I refuse!”

“Don’t add resisting arrest to your charges.” Jim seized his arm, and the flash of betrayal on Oswald’s face stung more than he wanted to acknowledge. He spun him around so he wouldn’t have to see it, and prepared to cuff his hands behind his back.

“Are you not even going to let me eat my sandwich?” Oswald’s voice had become shrill, and he was obviously willing to use any excuse to get Jim to let him go. “Would you deny a condemned man his last meal?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to your execution.”

“Oh, of course. _You would know_. It’s hardly the first one of mine you’ve had a hand in.”

That was completely unfair. “I let you go.”

“You fired a gun next to my ear, you pushed me, crippled and bleeding, into frigid water, I only lived because I pulled _myself_ out.”

“And a sandwich would fix that?” Jim’s voice was heavy with as much skepticism as sarcasm—even if the mention of what Oswald had been through back then did find its mark. But Oswald had misjudged that play, because it only convinced Jim even more that Oswald needed to be in some form of protective custody—whether he was willing to be or not.

“It’s not about that, it’s just—it’s about respect. Allow me the respect to turn myself in with dignity.”

Through all of this, Jim realized that he still hadn’t gotten Oswald secured. He had just been standing there allowing Oswald to twist in his grasp.

“Just let me have this one request,” Oswald continued, his voice more pleading than angry now, “and I’ll go with you willingly.”

Jim had no reason to accommodate him. Oswald had no way of stopping him, no room to bargain. Really, the sooner he got him into custody, the better it would be for both of them. Oswald would be less likely to be assassinated and Jim could begin to work on getting over this unwarranted _soft spot_ he’d developed.

“ _Please_.”

“Fine.” Jim said, even as his mind shouted at him that giving in was the last thing he should do. “But eat it quick.”

“You’re a true friend, Jim.” Oswald straightened his coat as soon as Jim let go of him, but there was a flash in his eyes that didn’t quite match the gratitude in his voice. “Thank you. You won’t regret this.”

“See that I don’t.” Jim tried to sound as gruff as possible.

Oswald sat down in his seat. He took a few seconds to collect himself before he reached for his plate.

“Will you please sit down?” Oswald said lightly, although he wasn’t meeting Jim’s eyes. “It’s our final moment together with me as a free man, and you hovering like that is making me nervous.”

Deciding that it couldn’t cause more harm than had already been done, Jim took the seat across from him.

Oswald reached for the cloth napkin rolled neatly on the tray. Despite his careful movements, his fingers shook as he unraveled it, and as he went to place it on his lap it slipped out of his grasp and fell onto the floor instead.

Jim shoved away the stab of guilt he felt. He reminded himself that it didn’t matter that he was upsetting Oswald, what he was doing was only for Oswald’s own good.

“Oops, clumsy me.” Oswald flashed him a half-hearted smile, before bending down to retrieve the napkin.

Normally Jim would have insisted anyone in his custody keep their hands where he could see them, but his instincts said he didn’t have to worry about that with Oswald. For all his leanings towards violence, he wasn’t going to do anything to hurt _him_.

“I’ll make sure you’re kept in a secure location,” Jim said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

“I’m in a secure location now,” Oswald said, still beneath the table. It was taking him longer than expected. Too long.

Jim heard the whisper of a suppressor an instant before the pain blossomed in his thigh. He jerked to his feet, drawing his sidearm and training it on Oswald.

“Calm down, calm down—no need to overreact!” Oswald raised both of his hands in front of him, no sign of the weapon.

“You shot me!”

“You forced my hand, Jim! I didn’t want to do it!”

Jim glanced down, expecting to see a gaping, gushing wound only to see the end of a dart sticking out of his leg. “What is this?”

“It’s a tranquilizer. Nothing dangerous and I was careful to aim for a safe spot. There’s no need to get upset.”

Jim yanked the dart out, hissing at the pain, but it was too late, the contents had been fully injected into him.

“You _drugged_ me?”

“You didn’t give me any choice! I’d be dead if you took me in!”

Jim’s vision was already starting to blur. His body felt heavy and his mouth had become dry. He had to get Oswald restrained before unconsciousness over took him. He couldn’t let him get away.

Jim exchanged his weapon for handcuffs and watched Oswald’s eyes widen. _Good._ He hoped the bastard was terrified. When he got his hands on him…

Jim was distracted from his thoughts as Oswald bumped into the chair he’d shoved behind him, and nearly fell to the floor in his attempt to escape.

Oswald scrambled to put space between them, but Jim was faster. He seized him, spun him around, and pinned him to his chest. Oswald lunged to the side, which ordinarily wouldn’t have worked, but Jim’s balance was already unsteady and he overcorrected. Together they toppled to the ground.

It didn’t matter, Jim had no intention of letting him break free. Using his size to his advantage, Jim forced Oswald onto his stomach and pressed himself down onto his back, causing the other man to grunt beneath his weight.

“Stop—don’t—” Oswald struggled to keep his arms away from Jim but to no avail as they were pinned against the small of his back. “Let me go!”

Jim was fighting to stay conscious, but all he had to do was fasten the cuffs and Oswald would be waiting for him when he woke up… Only they weren’t lining up right. He couldn’t get the ends to close.

Oswald was alternately shouting and pleading, and the noise was just making it harder to concentrate. Jim dropped the cuffs.

“Hold still,” he ordered— _slurred_. He was supposed to be finding... He couldn’t remember. But he’d lost something, he was sure of it.

Jim realized he was holding the wrists of the man beneath him in a way that seemed uncomfortable, so he let them go.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rough.” At Jim’s words, the body beneath him stilled.

“That’s OK,” the man sounded out of breath. He was warm and smelled faintly of cologne.

“I’m tired.” Jim uttered the words like an apology.

“Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll show you to a bed.”

“I’m fine here.” Jim slid down to lie on his side. He smiled at the man when he twisted around in his arms to face him. “You smell nice.”

The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes, was the man’s expression of surprise, as if there had been something unexpected about the compliment.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Jim woke with a crick in his neck, a deep throbbing in his left thigh, and his arms folded neatly over his chest as if he were lying in a coffin.

His eyes flew open. He’d been drugged and Oswald had— _Oswald_.

Jim forced himself to take a slow breath, tamping down his anger. He needed to assess his current situation. Later he would deal with Cobblepot.

He was alone, lying in a bed in a small room, and judging from the flannel sheets, the crocheted wall hangings, and the log walls, he was still in the cabin. Other than the tenderness in his leg, he didn’t seem injured, although his head ached.

Sitting up, he heard the clink of metal an instant before he noticed the manacle on his wrist—and the three feet or so of chain that ran from it to the wrought iron headboard.

Oswald hadn’t just drugged him, he’d taken him hostage.

This, _this_ , was what he got for letting Oswald finish his sandwich. How had he been so stupid? He should have taken him into custody the instant he’d opened the front door.

This was the last time he ever disregarded protocol.

“Cobblepot! Get in here, Cobblepot!” Jim called out, and then listened for any response to his shouts. There was nothing.

It was possible Oswald wasn’t here at all, that he’d stolen the cruiser and left Jim to be discovered by whoever showed up next… Whenever that would be. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going. It was possible he’d die of dehydration long before anyone thought to search for him here, or before one of Maroni’s associates stumbled upon him by chance.

“So help me, Cobblepot, if you left me here to rot, you’re going to pay for it!”

He examined the shackle on his wrist. It was padded, but worn from prior use, and Jim did his best to shove the implications of that out of his mind as he focused on the pad lock that was keeping it closed. It was a standard pin tumbler, and with the right tools, he was confident he could pick it.

Of course, his usual set was in his belt which Oswald had unfortunately been smart enough to take off him.

He’d have to find something else he could use.

But as he began searching the area around him, it occurred to Jim that Oswald had gone through a lot of trouble to move him into the bedroom. There were plenty of things in the kitchen he could have been chained to that would have been much less work. And he hadn’t simply tossed Jim onto the bed either, but he’d removed his coat and shoes and pulled the blanket up around his chest as if to tuck him in.

It was possible Oswald only intended to detain him long enough to exchange the cruiser for something less conspicuous, and then once he was far enough away, he’d phone in an anonymous tip to the GCPD so they could come free him.

It fit with his prior assumption—the one that had become embarrassing to even think about after the incident in the kitchen—that the soft spot he’d had for Oswald had been at least somewhat mutual. He’d had no doubt that it wouldn’t prevent Oswald from lying or trying to manipulate him, but he’d always expected him to stop short of causing him any real harm.

But it certainly wasn’t anything he intended to rely on, and pondering over it would do nothing to get him free any faster. No, the best course of action would be to work on saving himself.

 

#

 

Jim had stopped shouting, but Oswald could still hear faint sounds of movement through the bedroom door. He had no way of knowing what Jim was doing, and that made him nervous. Not in the way that his pulse had jumped when Jim had first shouted his name—the anger in his voice had practically reverberated through the walls—but it was still worrying.

Usually when he managed to turn the tables on anyone who thought they had the upper hand on him, he felt a certain satisfaction. He felt none of that now. Part of the problem was that he had this niggling fear that Jim wasn’t going to _stay_ under his control. Jim had an uncanny talent for turning the tables as well.

Dreading leaving Jim unsupervised for any amount of time, but needing to prepare for their confrontation, Oswald hurried to the kitchen. He tried to keep his steps light in the hopes that Jim wouldn’t be able to tell where he was, but his bad leg made it difficult. The additional aches caused from being knocked to the ground didn’t help either.

It could have been worse, of course. He didn’t even want to consider what might have happened if Jim had been able to cuff him before he’d passed out—or if he hadn’t trusted Oswald enough to let him finish his meal.

He felt a pang of guilt at that. Still, it had to be done. And Jim would be better off if he learned not to be so trusting. In the long run, he was doing him a favor.

He filled the electric kettle he’d found in the cabinet with water and switched it on.

Surely, Jim would have to understand that Oswald couldn’t just let himself be taken in, not when he’d be murdered in Blackgate. Drugging Jim had been an unfortunate necessity.

Oswald took a packet of coffee from the cabinet. It wasn’t instant, but seeing as how it came packaged in something like a tea bag, he imagined it wasn’t much better. The caffeine would still help to clear any fogginess from Jim’s mind though.

He started to get one of Maroni’s ugly ceramic mugs down, only to hesitate. It was possible Jim would only throw it at him—or shatter it and use the shards to attack him.

He was being ridiculous. Jim wasn’t a murderer. He was capable of violence, of course, but only as a last resort. Pushing his irrational fears aside, Oswald used the mug to make the coffee.

Going with the hope that keeping things civilized would in turn keep it civil, he placed the mug on a small plate as if it were a saucer, along with a spoon and some sugar cubes. There wasn’t any cream in the cabin, but there was milk he’d brought with him, so he poured a small amount into a second coffee cup. He arranged all of it on a tray. It wasn’t an ideal peace gesture, but it was the best he could do.

He carried the tray back to the bedroom, but stopped before entering.

Jim was going to be so _unhappy_ with him.

He knew that shouldn’t be a big concern, not when there were real, physical dangers looming over him, but it was hard not to dread the reaction he’d get when he went through that door.

He closed his eyes and took a moment to gather himself. He could do this. There was no reason to think their budding friendship couldn’t move past this minor setback.

He shifted the tray to one arm and lightly rapped on the door.

There was a moment of silence, just long enough for Oswald to begin to fear that Jim was no longer in the room at all, that he’d picked the locks and somehow slipped past him.

But then he heard a gruff, “Come in.”

Oswald pushed open the door and was relieved to see that Jim was still in the bed, although he was sitting with his back against the headboard now. His expression, however, was far from encouraging.

“I see you’re awake, Jim, old friend,” Oswald said, trying to sound as cheerful as he could under the circumstances. “I hope you slept well.”

“What the hell do you think you’re trying to pull?” Jim demanded, the aggression in his voice sending prickles down Oswald’s spine. “Release me now!”

“Now, now. First things first. I made you coffee. I’ve heard that helps with the after effects from—”

“I want my phone, and my gun, and my badge, and you to undo this chain right now—and where are my shoes?”

“You have my word that all of your possessions are safe and will be returned to you.” Oswald forced a smile. “But as for the coffee, I don’t know how you prefer it, so I—”

“I don’t want any damn coffee—I want out of here.”

“I’m not going to take your rudeness personally. You are, understandably, upset. But maybe after you have time to wake up we can talk—”

“No. Not until you—”

“ _To talk_ ,” Oswald repeated louder, “and agree on an outcome that’s best for both of us.”

Jim didn’t even bother to acknowledge his words. “This is kidnapping an officer of the law.”

Oswald set the tray on the table outside the door, resigned that nothing on it would ever amount to more than a projectile.

“You should know that I would never harm you,” Oswald insisted.

Jim’s expression grew even harder.

Oswald decided to try a different tack. “Look, you spared my life once, so—”

“And how much easier the people of Gotham would sleep at night if I hadn’t.”

That stung, even though he’d been braced for such comments, and Oswald felt a swell of frustration that Jim wasn’t responding better when he was trying so hard. Oswald pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and forced himself to take a breath.

“On second thought, I think I’ll return when you’re in a better mood.” He turned to leave, but stopped when Jim called after him.

“They’ll notice when I don’t show up at the GCPD. People will look for me.”

Oswald thought it was unlikely that Jim had told anyone where he was going, especially when it involved associating with someone he apparently thought was better off at the bottom of the Gotham River.

“I called in for you. Or texted rather, but see? Nothing for anyone to worry about.”

“You…” Jim gave him an incredulous look. “That won’t work. I never call in sick.”

“Well, of course not. I didn’t call you in sick, silly.” Oswald’s tone was becoming patronizing, and as he watched Jim grit his teeth he decided he was fine with that. “I told them that you had an emergency with family, and that you would have to leave Gotham for a couple of days. Rushing to the rescue of those in need is, after all, exactly what Officer Jim Gordon does.”

Jim stared at him for a long moment, no doubt internally chaffing at the reality that no one would be looking for him for quite some time.

“Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a bucket beside the bed that you can use for… Well, for your necessities.”

Oswald watched as understanding of what he meant spread across Jim’s face.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t like this anymore than you do, but it’s the only option.”

Jim’s expression continued to darken. “Oswald—”

“Obviously, your chain isn’t long enough to leave the room, and I won’t undo it and escort you there either. I mean, I can’t have you overpowering me on the way to the bathroom, can I?”

“When I get these chains off,” Jim said with the same deliberateness that was usually reserved for swearing an oath, “you’re going to be sorry.”

“But you won’t.” Oswald shrugged, allowing himself the faintest smirk. “So I suggest you make yourself comfortable.”

Jim glared at him, his upper lip pulling into a sneer, but before he could make any more threats, Oswald slipped out of the door and closed it behind him, catching only the beginnings of a growl.

Despite his flippancy, Oswald’s heart was pounding. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper, but Jim was just so _impossible_.

He looked down at the tray of cooling coffee and felt his chest clench.

Still, he hadn’t thought it would go quite so badly.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to [pensively](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pensively) for helping me when I was stuck, and for the feedback in general <3

 

Jim sat in the dark.

The sun had set shortly after Oswald had stormed out in a huff, taking away what light had come from the small window.

The darkness wouldn’t hinder him too much, he could pick a lock by feel, or he would have, if he’d managed to find something to pick it with. There were no exposed nails on the log walls or the bedside table. The bed springs would have been a possibility, but tearing apart the mattress would make too much noise. Although he might try it once Oswald had gone to sleep. He could still occasionally hear him moving around, or water running, so until then he had nothing to do but wait.

Jim had arrived at the cabin just before noon, and with sunset around six, he estimated he’d been here for close to eight hours. With any luck, something about Oswald’s wording in the text would draw Harvey’s suspicions, and he’d decide to investigate.

He was hungry, and he almost regretted not accepting Oswald’s offer of lunch, or even coffee. But it was better not to trust anything he gave him until he figured out what Oswald wanted. It didn’t make any sense that he’d stayed behind to negotiate, not when the hideout had become compromised and the cruiser would provide an easy means to abandon it.

It was possible he intended to convince Jim to use police resources to help him cover his tracks.

Regardless of what Oswald’s plan was, Jim needed to do whatever it took to get himself free and Oswald into custody before Maroni caught up with them both.

But before he could come up with any ideas on just how he was going to do that, there came a series of taps on the door. It was ridiculously polite, and Jim suspected Oswald was only doing it to give things an air of normality, to make Jim feel like a guest and not his hostage. To soften him.

Jim scowled, but he told him to come in.

The door opened, and while Oswald’s expression remained in shadow with the only source of light behind him, Jim heard a soft inhale of surprise.

“I didn’t realize it was dark in here.”

A switch was flicked on and Jim blinked at the sudden brightness.

“Hello, Jim,” Oswald said. He seemed more reserved this time, and he lingered in the doorway as if he thought Jim would jump him if he came too close.

Jim couldn’t fault him for that. He wanted to jump him.

“I came to see if you would like something to eat,” Oswald continued when Jim didn’t return his greeting. He was holding a tray again, this time with a mug and a bowl, and while Jim couldn’t see what they contained, he could smell a combination of tomatoes, cheese, and spices.

Jim forced himself to ignore the pinch in his stomach. “Do you really think you can keep this up?”

“For as long as is necessary.” Oswald gave a slight shrug before glancing down at the tray. “I give you my word that I didn’t do anything to the food. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Trusting you hasn’t exactly turned out well,” Jim said, and was rewarded with the darkening of Oswald’s expression.

“That was mostly your own fault. You had only to—” Oswald cut himself off and took a breath. He managed to plaster his smile back in place. “But that’s all in the past. Now, I heated some—”

“We both know you can’t hold me here indefinitely.”

“Would you stop being so stubborn?” Oswald jerked, and something metal clattered off the napkin.

It was a spoon or a fork, Jim couldn’t be sure, but if it was the latter, it might be something he could pick the lock with.

A sudden change of heart could create suspicion though, but before Jim could figure out how to avoid sounding like he was giving in too quickly, he was drawn from his thoughts by Oswald’s sigh.

“Besides,” Oswald said, “wouldn’t it be to your advantage to keep up your strength for when you inevitably try to escape?”

Jim couldn’t help it, he snorted. “Leave it to you to always be pragmatic.”

Oswald gave him a small mischievous smile, and unlike all the prior ones today, this one felt real. If Jim hadn’t been so angry at him, he might have found it cute.

“Fine. I’ll take the damn tray.”

He expected Oswald to look smug, but instead he only saw relief.

“You won’t regret this.”

Jim just waved for him to get on with it.

Oswald took a step forward, only to stop. “I need you to stay back, so I can set it down.”

Jim lifted an eyebrow at the request. “Not brave enough to hand it to me?”

“Not ‘foolish’ enough, you mean.”

He had a point. Although Jim wouldn’t actually lunge at him without testing the reach of the chain first.

He’d do that after he left.

So for now, he leaned back against the headboard, allowing Oswald to approach.

Oswald moved closer, but just before he got to the edge of the bed, he paused again. “Assaulting me would accomplish nothing.”

“It would make me feel better.”

At Oswald’s alarmed look, Jim rolled his eyes, but then he made a show of folding his arms behind his head to put Oswald at ease.

Oswald set the tray down on the foot of the bed and then sprang away. Once he was safely out of reach, some of his tension seemed to fade.

“It’s just canned ravioli. I imagine Don Maroni would be outraged to know this was being served in his house.” Oswald smirked slightly, and Jim couldn’t help but think that spite was going to get him in a lot of trouble one day. “Although I do apologize for not fixing you something nicer, but I thought you might refuse it.”

Jim didn’t have anything to say to that. He’d never been a picky eater, and whether it came from a can or not meant very little to him. He was also primarily interested in the fork, but he wasn’t going to point that out.

“Well, I assure you that you’ll be more impressed with breakfast,” Oswald said. He paused for just a moment before adding, “bon appétit,” and then skittering out of the room before Jim could respond to _that_.

Jim leaned forward to inspect the contents of the tray. He was disappointed to find a spoon.

Apparently, there were limits to the risks Oswald was willing to take to make Jim feel more at home, and anything that might fit in the opening of the lock seemed to be on that list. Still, he’d given him a metal spoon, as well as ceramic dishes that were heavy enough to bludgeon someone with, or could be broken into shards to cut. Oswald must not think Jim was likely to use them against him.

Jim was annoyed at that thought. Mostly because it was true. He still had the soft spot. Oswald didn’t deserve it, not at all, but somehow it was still there. This was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. He’d trusted him and then he’d gotten _shot_.

Jim looked down at the ravioli. Even if he’d only accepted it for the possibility of the fork, he couldn’t deny that he was ravenous.

Oswald hadn’t made any further attempts to try to convince Jim to let him go, and while he wanted to think that it was because he was waiting until Jim had eaten and was in a better mood, there was also the chance that he’d simply given up and decided to poison him after all.

It would be stupid to trust Oswald a second time.

Jim picked up the spoon, and after a long and indecisive moment, he took a bite.

 

#

 

Oswald was making progress. Jim might not be friendly—not yet—but he’d accepted the dinner Oswald had offered and had spoken to him without yelling. For Jim, that was quite the improvement, especially in just one day.

Oswald wanted to feel triumphant about his victory, but it was hard to work up much enthusiasm when all he wanted to do was sleep.

Oswald scrubbed his hands across his eyes. The first night in the cabin he’d been too worried that Maroni would show up, and so he’d spent most of it pacing in front of the windows. The night before that had consisted of broken sleep shivering in damp leaves. Even if he’d dared to rest tonight, he’d given Jim the only bed, and the chairs in the main room were hardly comfortable to lie on.

Well, there was nothing that could be done about it now. He’d simply have to persevere, and hope Jim saw reason sooner rather than later. Until then he’d remain vigilant; it wouldn’t do to have Jim make a break for it the moment Oswald was unconscious.

He waited until it had been long enough for Jim to have finished eating, and then braced himself for another confrontation. But before he knocked on the door to retrieve the tray, he had a thought, something that might help solve at least two of his problems, and he made a detour to the kitchen.

When he entered Jim’s room, Oswald knew he’d guessed right by the way Jim’s eyes went straight to the tumbler in his hand.

“I thought you could use a nightcap,” Oswald said, trying not to sound too pleased with himself.

Jim forced his eyes away from the glass, but they’d already lingered too long to pretend he wasn’t interested.

“Any sleeping pills in that?”

He wished. Oswald tamped down that thought. “No, I’m afraid I’m all out. Although if you’re having trouble sleeping, there is always the tranquilizer—”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

Oswald was pleased by the near comradery he picked up in Jim’s voice.

“Maybe a drink will finally get rid of that headache your dart caused me.” Jim lifted his chin towards the tumbler. “If you set it down, I can move it to the nightstand, so you can take the tray.”

It was a relief that Jim was being so cooperative, although Oswald knew better than to let his guard down just yet. Still, as he placed the drink on the tray, he couldn’t help but be pleased that the bowl, cup, and spoon were all accounted for.

Leaning against the headboard, Jim seemed mildly amused at Oswald’s caution as he quickly moved out of reach. While Oswald didn’t enjoy being the source of that sort of amusement, there was a part of him that didn’t mind it so much if it meant Jim was pleased with him even in just a small way.

“I see you ate your dinner, I hope it was to your enjoyment?”

“It was fine.” Jim didn’t look up as he transferred the drink to the nightstand.

“Good. I’m glad.” Oswald retrieved the tray. “Do you want me to turn off the light?”

“Leave it on.”

Oswald frowned at that. He would have rather Jim just went to sleep.

“Ah. Well, just let me know if you need anything. I can hear you very clearly from the living room.” He hoped Jim got his meaning, and from the tightlipped expression he gave him, he suspected he did.

“Goodnight, Oswald,” Jim said in a clear dismissal.

Still, it was more civil than he’d expected.

“Goodnight, Jim.”

 

#

 

Jim awoke feeling much better than the day before. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, or at least not for so long. Oswald was already up, as he could hear him moving about. He’d missed his chance to get a bedspring, but he didn’t regret it too much because he’d come up with another plan to get free.

Unfortunately, before he could begin to put it into action, he had to take care of another matter.

Oswald must have heard him, for there were footsteps outside the door, but he was respectful enough to wait until Jim had zipped himself and gotten back in bed before knocking.

Jim wanted to act like it didn’t matter, that it was Oswald’s fault and that it served him right to have to deal with it, but he couldn’t help it, he was embarrassed. And while Oswald wrinkled up his nose in distaste as he took the bucket, Jim was grateful that the matter was handled without him having to ask.

When Oswald returned, he told him breakfast would be ready shortly, and Jim was glad for the change in topic.

True to his word, it wasn’t long before Oswald came back and set Jim’s meal on the foot of the bed.

Jim wasn’t sure exactly what he was being served. It slightly resembled a very thin pancake, or maybe a crepe, that had been layered with some sort of fruit filling, and rolled. Powdered sugar was sprinkled on top.

“My mother taught me how to make these. She was a cook, and said more than once, a man claimed to have fallen in love with her for them.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at that, and he expected Oswald to roll his eyes, or make a snarky remark once he realized what he’d implied.

To his surprise, Oswald’s eyes widened and color rose in his cheeks.

“Of course, I don’t make them nearly as well as she did, so I can assure you that you’re perfectly safe.” Oswald’s tone was too rushed to pull off the joke, and from the pinched look on his face he was well aware of his own awkwardness.

Jim studied him for a moment, and was puzzled to see that Oswald seemed to be growing even more apprehensive. He wondered if Oswald was worried Jim would lash out at him for suggesting, even jokingly, that Jim might find him attractive.

“Good,” Jim said as he picked up the spoon. “Because even if I was head over heels for you, I’d still take you into the station.”

Oswald inhaled sharply, and this time the redness in his face spread to his ears and neck as well.

“Of-of course.” He cleared his throat and smiled with forced confidence. “I would expect nothing less from Officer James Gordon.” Oswald winced again, as if realizing how contrary that statement went to his goals. “I’ll leave you to eat in peace.”

Oswald didn’t just walk out of the room, he fled.

Jim stared after him for a long moment. It was possible that he’d gotten Oswald’s motivations all wrong. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this revelation, if that’s indeed what it was.

It was better not to think too much about it though. Regardless of what Oswald did or didn’t feel, it wouldn’t change Jim’s plan.

 

 

 


End file.
